


No Good Deed

by hermitized



Category: Chicago Med, Chicago PD (TV)
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Head Injury, Hurt Connor Rhodes, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Stabbing, Whump, canon typical gore, medical setting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitized/pseuds/hermitized
Summary: A doctor is injured trying to provide help, and the events that follow change life at Chicago Med forever.





	1. Evisceration

“Has anyone seen Dr. Rhodes?”

Will and April both looked up. Will said, “I think he went midtown for lunch.”

“But he should be back by now, right?”

“I think so.”

“Well, if you see him, Dr. Latham’s looking for him." Maggie huffed, cursed under her breath, and stomped off. April and Will looked at each other. Ethan came over and said, “He really should be back by now, though.”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s Natalie?”

“Up in the PICU.”

“Dr. Choi, we have a gsw coming in, take them to baghdad.”

“Got it.” Ethan moved instantly, meeting the stretcher and leading them to treatment 1. April followed him, looking back at Will one more time as she left.

Will leaned on the counter, finishing up his paperwork. He really was starting to wonder where Connor was. Looking up, he saw Maggie was on the phone. There was a grave look on her face.

As she set the receiver down, she motioned him over. “Paramedics are three minutes out with an abdominal evisceration.”

“Jesus.” Will instantly started grabbing for gloves, pulling them on. “I’ll take them in treatment 2.”

“Will.”

He stopped, looked up at her. She bit her lip. “Will, it’s Dr. Rhodes.”

His heart jumped into his throat. He stared at her for a moment, then turned towards the door.

After what felt like forever, but was really only a couple of minutes, Dawson and Brett rolled in, followed by two cops. On the gurney was Conner, face covered in an oxygen mask. His abdomen had been covered over with a taped-down cloth.

“Thirty-year old white male with severe penetrating abdominal trauma,” Brett said.

Will moved to the stretcher and helped pull it into Treatment 2. Connor was clearly conscious, eyes darting around the room, hands fidgeting at his sides. “Maggie said there was evisceration?”

Dawson and Brett looked at each other. Dawson said, “Take a look.”

“Transfer him on my count,” Will said. “1, 2, 3!”

In unison, they heaved Connor from the gurney to the table. Connor looked up at Will, panicking flashing in his bright blue eyes.

“Hang on, Connor, “ Will said. “I’m going to take a look.”

Taking a deep breath, he pulled back the cloth. What he saw was a nightmare. Torn skin and muscle, bright and dark red blood, things on the outside that should have been on the inside.

Looking up again, he asked, “Did you put some morphine in him?”

Brett nodded, and told him the amount. Something bumped pretty hard against Will’s wrist. Looking down, he saw Connor was trying to pull the cloth that had been covering his insides back into position.

“Connor, you need to keep your hands down.”

Connor was clearly panicked, pupils blown, hands desperately groping at nothing, trying to do anything.

“You need to stop, you aren’t helping,” Will repeated. He was already stressed enough, his heart pounding in his face. He thanked God that his hands weren’t shaking. He grabbed Connor’s wrist to try and pull his arm away from the wound.

This was the wrong move. Connor immediately tensed up, and tried to jerk away. HIs eyes darted around the room, focusing on the monitor. “I gotta...I gotta…”

Desperation gripped Will. He looked around the room, all but begging for help. Nearly out of nowhere, Choi appeared on the scene. Seamlessly, he navigated the crowd, to get to the head of the bed. “Dr. Rhodes.” His voice was clipped, commanding, carrying the kind of weight that made everyone in the room snap to attention, including Connor. His arm fell out of Will’s hand.

“Rhodes, you need to let Dr. Halstead do his job,” Choi said. “This is his room. Understand?””

Connor nodded, slowly. “I need to…”

“The only thing you’re going to do is keep your eyes on me, and let these people do their jobs,” Choi said. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” Connor’s voice was growing weak. Choi looked up at Will, and nodded.

“Alright.” Will shook his head, and got back to work. “How are we on the OR?”

“They’re almost ready,” Maggie said from the door. She looked as calm as usual, but there was a burr in her throat.

“Okay, let’s make sure all that blood is from the stomach wound.”

He began inspecting Connor’s torso, chest, and legs. “Alright, we’re good. Clarke. Let’s get that wound recovered. April, how’s his O2?”

“He’s down to 83.”

“Let’s keep him on oxygen, I don’t think we need to tube him right now.”

Connor started lifting his head to try to look at the monitor. Choi said, firmly, “Eyes on me,” and he let his head fall back down.

“Dr.Halstead, they’re ready for you.”

“All right, let’s move.” 

As they moved, Will found himself falling back. He needed to get to the OR to give a report to the surgeon, but he felt like he was moving through molasses. Ethan came up beside him, and put a hand on his elbow. “Will?”

His breaths were coming out fast and sharp. He tried to steady himself. “Hell.” He began pulling off his gloves, turned to look up at Ethan. “Thank you. You really calmed him down in there.”

“Oh, sure.” Ethan looked down, pressed his lips together, then tugged on his arm. “We should at least go to the OR, come on.”

Will let him leave him, numbly. “I should have been able to do it,” he said. “We’re friends.”

“It isn’t a one-person job. In the field, I treated some injured medics. They’re always panicking, trying to help, convinced that there’s something they need to do.” He swallowed. “In a case like that, one person on team has to spend the time making sure the patient stays calm and focused on one thing.”

“Makes sense,” Will said. He felt like he was staring at the inside of his eyeballs.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Will?”

“I’m not, but I don’t have any choice about that right now.”

The silence from Ethan conveyed more understanding than words ever could.

Once they gave the surgeons their report, they headed back to the main department. Will felt like he was going to throw up.

“Hey, Will.” Maggie was looking at him, very serious. “You’re white as a sheet.”

“I feel awful,” he said. He was too shocked out to be anything.

“You should get checked out,” Maggie said. “Both of you.” Go to exam room two.”

Will was surprised he didn’t collapse to his knees before he got there. At first, he thought Ethan wasn't as shaken at him, but then he felt his fingers trembling on his bicep.

He sat down on the bed. Ethan sat in one of the chairs.

About five minutes later, Natalie and Dr. Charles came into the room. Natalie had been up in the PICU when Connor was brought in. There was tension in her face, but she seemed calm. Dr. Charles’s face was also a mask, and his eyes focused in immediately on Will.

“Did they tell you what happened?” Ethan asked.

“Broadly.” Natalie did a quick visual triage, then headed over to Will. She put him on a pulse oximeter, took his pulse, felt his skin signs. Her mouth drew itself into a long line. “How are you feeling, Will?”

“Awful,” he said again. Purple spots were dancing in his vision. “I feel like I’m going to throw up”

“You should lay down,” she said. “You’re in heavy shock.”

He did what she said, stretching out on the bed. She elevated his feet, and helped cover him with the blanket. “I want you laying down for at least an hour.”

“I…”

“Don’t argue with me, Will. If you stood up again, you’d be moments away from fainting”

She was right, of course. He closed his eyes, but snapped him open when the image of Connor’s bloody body flashed into his mind. Natalie patted on the shoulder, then moved over to Ethan. She took his pulse too, checked his skin signs, asked how he was feeling.

“I’m really shaken up,” he admitted. “But I’m alright.”

“You can go back on the floor, I think. Just keep an eye out if you start feeling sick.”

“Will do.”

She straightened up, turned to Dr. Charles. He said, “You two should both go back out, I’m going to sit with Will for a bit. I do want to see you later, Ethan.”

“I’ll come find you,” he promised. He stood up, glanced over at Will, then followed Natalie back out into the main ward.

Dr. Charles turned to Will. He tilted his head. “Do I even need to ask the question?”

Will let out a breath. His heart was racing. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

“Sure,” Charles said. “But it’s still a pretty nasty injury, and it’s different when it’s someone you know. Someone who’s your friend.”  
It was true, but still…”I’ve never reacted this badly before.”

“You’re decompensating. You compensated in order to your job in the moment, and now that the situation has resolved itself, the opposite effect is setting in.”

He still felt imminently about to throw up, but he swallowed and tried to take deep breaths. “What the hell even happened to him?”

“I heard the cops talking to Ms. Goodwin. Do you want to hear?”

Opening his eyes, and turning his head towards Dr. Charles, he nodded.. “Please.”

“Here’s what they know.” Charles knitted his fingers together, leaned forward. “At 12:16 PM, Dr. Rhodes called 911. He said he’d heard screams, and followed them down the block, where he’d found a kid who’d been badly beaten. At 12:20 PM, the line went dead. Paramedics and police arrived on the scene four minutes later, and found him lying on his side, clutching his abdomen, covered in blood.” He stopped, and shrugged, as if to ask, Need I stay more?

“He was trying to help somebody.” Will’s eyes were burning, his vision going blurry. “Did they find the kid?”

“Police searched the area, and didn’t find anybody.”

“Man.” That meant the whole thing had been a ruse. But what would the goal be? “Why would they want to get a doctor?”

“They were probably just trying to get anybody,” Charles said. “If they were targeting anybody, they’d probably be targeting cops.”

A horrible image of Jay laying on the ground, bleeding from the abdomen, wracked his mind, and he shut his eyes and covered his face with his arm. Charles went silent, sitting still in his chair.

After a minute or two, he asked, “What’s going on, Will?”

Will rolled onto his side, crossing his arms over his stomach. “You want to ask another question.”

Charles tilted his head, looking very much like an old dog. “What would you say his prognosis is, doctor?”

Letting out a breath, Will pressed his finger into the oximeter. “I think he’s probably going to live, but that damage that could have been done...that wound is going to be with him for the rest of his life.”  
Again, Charles went silent. Will shivered. “I think his liver is probably damaged. I’m hoping his small intestine wasn’t. Lucky there isn’t any damage to his heart and lungs.”

“Or his head,” Charles said. “They could have beaten the hell out of him, but they left it at the slashing. That’s interesting.”

Will nodded. He didn’t feel like he was going to throw up anymore, but he felt dizzy. “I wonder if there have been any other cases like this.”

“I’m sure the police are on it.” Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Charles said, “I won’t talk to you anymore, Will, if you don’t want me too, but is it alright if I sit here for awhile?”

“Sure.” Will rolled onto his back, adjusting his legs, staring up at the brightly lit ceiling. “Could I get some water?”

“I’ll go get you some.”

While he waited for Dr. Charles to return with the pitcher, he fell into a half-asleep, uncomfortable daydream, where he’s holding Jay in his arms, blood all down his front. Then, Jay became Connor, and he was gasping. “Please, Will...please. Please…”

“I want to help you,” he replied. “I want to help.” But he was paralyzed, rooted to the ground, unable to move. Frozen. Locked in.

He woke gasping. Dr. Charles was leaning worriedly over him, but he waved him off. “Bad dream,” he said.  
\  
Charles sat back. A minute or two late, Natalie and Maggie walked into the room. Natalie checked Will’s vitals, then looked back at Charles and Maggie.

“We want to send you home, Will,” Maggie said. “But Dr. Charles and Dr. Manning don’t want you to be alone.”

“Call Jay,” Will said immediately. He didn’t know if his brother would be able to come, but he wanted nothing more in the world than to see him.


	2. Shock

The ringing of his phone shook him out of his reverie. Jay excused himself, and walked into one of the meeting rooms. “Hello?”

“Jay, it’s Dr. Charles from Chicago Med.”

“Dr. Charles. How can I help you?”

“I assume you heard about what happened to Dr. Rhodes?”

“I did.” He peered out the window. “We’re working on it now.” 

“Good.” Over the line, he heard Charles sigh. “Will was his primary when he was brought in.”

“Jesus.” Jay let out a breath. “How is he?”

“He’s not doing well.”

After he thanked Dr. Charles, and hung up, Jay walked into Voight’s office. “I gotta go,” he said.

“Take all the time you need,” his boss replied

Driving to Med, he tried to bolster himself into calm. Will wasn’t hurt, he was just in shock. He was just overwhelmed.

After parking in the parking lot, he nearly charged into the ER. Dr. Charles met him at the door, and brought him back to see Will.

If he didn’t know what was really going on, he would have thought there was something seriously wrong with his brother.

“Hey, buddy.” He knelt down, put his hand on Will’s wrist. “You ready to go home?”

He drove them back to Will’s place. Will fell down on the couch as soon as they walked in. Jay found a blanket, and laid it over him. “Do you want to change into something more comfortable, or are you going to sleep in your jeans?”

“I’m exhausted.” He buried his face in his arms. “It was awful, Jay.”

“I know.” He sat down where there was space at Will’s feet. “Listen, of course you feel bad right now. You’ve just been through a horrible thing, something most people will never experience in their entire lives. How else are you supposed to feel but awful?”

“What should I do?”

“Sleep. Let your body get into equilibrium. Process as best you can moving forward. That’s all you can do.”

Will burrowed under the blanket. He could hear the snap of bloody gloves in his ear. “How long does it last?

Jay couldn’t possibly come up with a good answer for him.

###

Daniel found Ethan leaning against the wall outside, staring into space. “You alright there, doc?”

He looked up sharply, then relaxed. “Dr. Charles. I’m fine, just tired.”

“I’ll bet.” Daniel settled in next to him against the wall.”You have time to meet with me?”

“Right. Sorry, I’ve been going all day.” Ethan rubbed his eyes.

Tilting his head, Daniel asked, “Even on your lunch?”

“Lunch…” Ethan said it in a dreamy voice, as though recalling a lost memory. “...I forgot.”

“Well, come on then. It’s union-mandated, after all.”

The two of them walked up to the cafeteria. Ethan got a salad, Daniel got a sandwich, and a cup of coffee. They covered their plates, and took their meals up to Daniel’s office. The moment he sat down, Ethan fell on his food like a starving wolf.

Daniel let him eat and sipped his coffee, picked at his own sandwich. Being a therapist meant you became very good at waiting.

After several minutes, Ethan set down his fork and looked up. There was something in his eyes that told Daniel it was time to begin.

“Do you know what the worst part is?”

“Tell me.”

Ethan moved his tray completely to the side, zipped up his jacket, tugged down the sleeve. Defense mechanism. “It isn’t the blood and the gore or anything like that. Maybe it should be, but…” He trailed off, and didn’t pick the sentence back up.

“You see it every day. Maybe not that bad, a lot of the time, but it’s...routine.”

“That’s it, yeah.” Ethan tugged at his hood. “No, it’s that...the worst part is that I’m always seeing the worst sides of people.”

“Can you explain that further?”

“People screaming in pain. People begging for their lives. People not even in their bodies.” He shuddered, crossed his arms. “When I held his head and looked into his eyes today, I didn’t see the Connor I knew. I’ve seen him going through some hell on the floor out there, and I’ve never seen him look so frantic, so frightened.” Ethan shrugged.

“I can see why that would be exhausting.” Daniel leaned forward, hands on his knees. “He wasn’t completely not Connor, though. You were able to calm him down, from what I heard at least.”

“Yeah, well.” Ethan looked down. “I just wish I could have done more.”

They talked for a solid fifty minutes about accepting the things one could not change, about coping mechanisms and the importance of self-care.

Towards the end of it, Ethan said something else that was interesting. He said, “I also just feel really awful for Will.”

“Dr. Halstead went through something incredibly traumatic,” Daniel agreed.

“That’s another thing I wish I could have done more for.”

“Because you’ve already been through it before?”

“Yes.”

“You were engaged with another patient, right? You did what you had to do, and he stepped up.”

“I know,” Ethan sighed. “I just wish he hadn’t had to go through. I don’t think anyone should have to go through it, but since I already have, I feel as though I should protect other people from it.”

This was one of the most open, honest things the doctor had ever said to him. As he sat in the revelation, Ethan checked his watch. “I should get back on the floor.”

“Of course. Thank you, Dr. Choi.” He cocked his head at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now that I’ve eaten, sir. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”


	3. Fever

Will woke up the next morning feeling as though he had a massive hangover, even though he was sure he hadn’t drunk any alcohol. Rolling over, he realized he had somehow made it from the couch to the bed.

Changing into sweatpants, and pulling on a hoodie, he stumbled out into the living room. Jay was sitting at the kitchen table, eating some toast and drinking a cup of coffee. He looked up at the sound of footsteps. “Morning, kid.”

“Don’t “kid” me.” He walked to the cabinet, took out a mug, and poured the remaining coffee into it.

“Whatever.” Jay set his cup down. “Maggie called, she wanted to know if you were going to be coming in. I told her I wasn’t sure.”

“I’d better call her. Thanks.”

Sitting at the table and pulling out his phone, he hit Maggie’s name. She answered on the second ring. “Dr. Halstead.”

“Sorry, Maggie. Is it alright if I come in on the second shift?”

“No problem, Ethan and I already found someone to cover it.”

“Thank you, I’m sorry, again…”

“Take as much time as you need, Will.” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft.

Hanging up, he looked over Jay. “You don’t have to stay…”

“I already talked to Voight. He want me for a night stakeout, so I can take most of the day.”

“Thank you.” Will went silent.

“You should eat,” Jay said, standing up. “What do you want, eggs?”

“Sure.”

While his brother cooked, Will checked his phone. There was a text from Natalie, saying she hoped she’d get to see him today, ha text from Ethan asking if he was going to be coming in. He sent them both a message saying he’d be in around one.

Jay set a plate down in front of him and Will ate, slowly, but ultimately glad of the nutrients. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

They drank their coffee, Will ate his eggs, then he decided to put his laundry in the machine. While it was running, they went out for a walk. They did a long block circle, just talking, Jay teasing him about his lab girl, Will teasing him about Lindsay.

They picked up pizza on their way back. They ate a couple slices, and shared a conservative bottle of beer. Will put his clothes in the dryer, then took a nap. When he woke up, it was 12:15.

“I should head in,” he told Jay. He began packing his bag.

“You want a ride?”

"Please.”

Hugging his brother goodbye felt like letting go of a lifeline.

When he got into the hospital, Ethan was standing at the Nurses’s Station with a grim look on his face. He looked up when he saw him, and walked over. “Are you clocked in yet?”

“I’m fifteeen minutes early, I think.”

“Come with me.”

Will followed Ethan into the elevator, rode it up a floor. Ethan led him into a room.

Connor was lying in bed, now fully intubated. His skin was flushed and sweaty, his eyes moving rapidly under his eyelids. Will looked at the monitor, then at Ethan. “He’s developed a fever?”

“A nurse noticed it late this morning.”

“Is it an infection?”

“I don’t know. His incision site doesn’t appear infected, but that doesn’t mean it’s not something else."

Will shuddered. Walking up, he placed a hand over Connor’s. “Is his family here?”

“His father and sister, yes. They’re getting lunch.”

Though he didn’t know much of the story of Connor Rhodes, he knew that Connor and his father did not get along. Still…”At least he’s not alone.”

“Yeah.” Ethan sighed. “I’m going to lunch. You’d better get signed in.”

“Will do.” Will squeezed Connor’s hand. Connor flinched in his sleep.

Heading back down to the lobby, Will clocked in and went to the lounge. Natalie was in there working on one of the computers. She looked up when he came in. “Hi, Will.”

“Hey.” He put his backpack into his locker, got out his scrubs. “How goes the battle?”

“It goes.” She shrugged. “I been on my feet all day, but I’ve been getting by alright.” She tilted her head at him. “How are you doing?”

He didn’t know how to answer that question, so he just shrugged. Natalie turned away from her screen, fixing her dark eyes on him. With a sigh, he said, “I’m getting by.”

The nod she gave him was deep with silent understanding. After a moment, she said, “I went to see him this morning.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know, it’s the weirdest thing. I saw him at 6:30 this morning, and he seemed alright. Drugged up and recovering, y’know but, alright. Then, two hours after his dad and sister get in, Ethan comes down and tells me he’s developing a fever.”

“He just told me too.” Will leaned against the counter, holding his scrubs. “These things can take time to develop.”

“They can, absolutely. You just grow to notice things about the timing, that’s all.”

“Yeah.”

Natalie stood up, walked over to him, hesitated, then put a hand on his arm. Will had never been more glad than in that moment that they’d gone their separate ways, and remained friends. “I wanted to say, Will...I’m sorry I wasn’t down there with you.”

_I’m not,_ he thought. Out loud, he said, “It’s alright. Thank you.”

She squeezed his forearm. “I’ll see you out there.”

“See you.”

When she was gone, he sat down heavily in one of the chairs. It took everything he had not to break down in tears.

When he had himself under control, he went to the changing to put on scurbs, pulled on his white coat, and went back into the fray.


	4. Sister

Claire slumped in a chair, eyes fixed on her brother. If she were anymore exhausted, she’d be asleep, but she couldn’t sleep here. Dad had left to take care of some business or another. She was alone.

Well no, not completely alone. Maroon-clad doctors walked the halls, blue-scrubbed nurses walked in and out of the room checking on Connor, checking on her.

There were three doctors in particular always coming around to take a look in Connor’s room. There was a brown-haired woman, and red-haired man who she thought was named Halstead, and an Asian man who just had to be retired or reserve military.

Right then, it was Halstead who walked. He nodded to her, walked up to the other side of the bed, and took a look at the monitor. He looked down at his tablet, then down at her brother’s pale face. “Can you hear me, Connor?”

Connor’s eyes opened. Where his eyes should have been white, they were largely pink, in some cases bright red. He lifted a hand to touch the mask on his face, but Halstead shook his head. “Leave it, Connor.”

Claire hated to see her brother like this. Connor was a lot of things, good and bad, but one thing he nearly always was self-assured. And now, here he was, confined to a bed for the foreseeable future, all because he’d thought he was helping somebody.

“You still have a fever,” Will said. “You still feel sick?”

Connor nodded. He looked absolutely miserable.

“Hang in there, buddy, we’ll get this figured out.” He looked down at his tablet, then up at her. “Could I talk to you outside for a moment, Ms. Rhodes?”

“Of course.” She tried not to be too taken aback. Of course he wanted to talk to her.”

She followed out into the hallway. He turned to her, face composed. “We’ve been running tests to try to figure out what kind of infection your brother has, but the results are inconclusive.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“With his permission, take more blood and try again.”

She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “How’s his wound healing?”

“As well as can be expected. Dr. Gray is one of the finest abdominal surgeons in the country.”

“That’s good to hear, at least.”

Will wanted to say something, but he was clearly carefully considering how to phrase it. “I’m going to consult with Dr. Choi, and we’re likely going to put Connor on a broad-spectrum antibiotic until we get more definitive results, but there’s something else I’d like to ask you.”

“What is it?’

“Connor and your father...they don’t get along well, do they?”

She couldn’t help it. She let out a little bark of a laugh. “You could say that. They haven’t since Connor was fourteen.”

Halstead nodded, slowly. “I’d never want to tell a family member to stop visiting a patient. But in a case where the relationship causes stress, perhaps it would be better to limit some of the time spent?”

She saw what he was getting at. It made a lot of sense, of course, but she could see now why he’d been hesitant to bring it up. “I’ll speak to dad. He has a lot of business he needs to take care of, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Reaching out, Halstead squeezed Connor’s hand. “We’ll be back later, alright?”

She saw Connor’s fingers wrap around the other man’s hand, compress. Halstead’s thumb rubbed the back of his hand. Then he let go, stepped back from the bed, and left the room.

As it turned back, Claire didn’t even have to have the talk with her dad. When he picked her up for dinner, he told her that he was heading for New York that night, and would be there for several days. She told him that she would miss him, and she would hold down the fort here in Chicago.

Back at the hospital, as she was headed up, she saw Halstead, the woman, and the man she believed was Choi, all wearing street clothes, enter Connor’s room. She hung back for awhile but, when they didn’t come out right away, she followed them in.

They were all gathered around his bed. Choi was standing in front of of the monitor, Halstead sitting on his right, the woman (Manner? Manning?) sitting on the left. They looked up at her as she entered, and took a seat next to Halstead. “So, he really does have friends,” she said.

She didn’t mean to sound bitter. She was honestly glad for it.

“He can be difficult at first,” Manning said. “But he’s worth getting to know.”

“He has a true fire in his heart,” Choi said.

Halstead laid a hand over Connor’s. “He’s can be a bastard,” he said. “But that’s only because he cares so damn much.”

It was hard to keep it together, hearing real people talk about her brother like this , but she managed it somehow. Connor looked like he was sleeping, oxygen mask still covering his nose and mask, a new bag of antibiotics running into his arm.

“I hope his fever breaks tonight,” Manning said.

“We will see,” Choi replied.

Halstead didn’t say anything. He just kept holding Connor’s hand.

After a little while, they filtered out one by one, Manning first citing needing to go pick up her baby, then Choi. Halstead left last, but not before telling her his first name was Will, and giving her his mobile number. “If you need anything, anything at all, please give me a call.”

“Dad’s going to be on business in New York for the forseeable future,” she told him.

He nodded. “I hope business goes well.”

With the door closed, she took her brother’s hand. “Don’t leave me alone again,” she told.

A rhythmic beeping was her only answer.


	5. once more

With the initiation of antibiotics, and, everyone secretly thought, the absence of his father, Connor’s infection steadily cleared up, and his condition improved. The second round of tests put forth a specific culprit, and Ethan prescribed a more targeted course of antibiotics. Connor was moved from a full oxygen mask, to a simple nasal cannula.

There were, however, new problems on the horizon.

A lobe of Connor’s liver had been severely damaged in the trauma, and had to be removed. There were still two healthy lobes, and livers are known to regenerate, but the doctors were still watching it with concern. More troublingly, his small intestine had been perforated, and was still leaking after emergency surgery.

“It’s like this,” Dr. Gray told Ethan as she was scheduling the second surgery. “It’s hard to get any kind of precision work done when the whole cavity is filling with blood.

She was right of course, but Ethan still didn’t like the idea of his already weak friend having to undergo another surgery.

He met Will and Natalie out at the lunch tables, and told them what happened. They both looked at each other, and let out identical sighs.

“Dr. Gray’s one of the best,” Natalie said. “If she says he needs surgery, he needs surgery.”

“Granted,” Will said. “But his infection’s just finally starting to clear up. Is putting him through added stress really the best thing for him right now?”

“Surely it must be better than nothing.”

Ethan held up his hands. “Whatever we think, it’s happening tomorrow night. The room is booked, the forms are signed.”

They sat out in the square of asphalt and metal and plastic, kids playing basketball across the street, all being whipped by the bone-chilling wind.

Dr. Gray must have talked to someone, or else had a creepy sixth sense about these things, because she had indeed scheduled the surgery for the night shift the following day. Ethan and Will met in the waiting room, walked down to the cafeteria, then up past Connor’s currently unoccupied room.

“Where do you think his sister is?” Ethan asked.

“Sleeping, I hope,” Will replied.

Stopping by a vending machine, Will put in a dollar, and got out a soda. Ethan watched him, then purchased a bottle of water for himself. They did another loop.

“At least he has his sister,” Ethan said. “It must be nice to have a sibling, even if you don’t really have a parent.”

“No kidding.”

They sat down in the waiting area nearest to operating room. The night charge nurse smiled at them, asked who they were waiting for, and turned on the television above her desk. The nightly news was playing.

“Jay told me he found a case of a paramedic in midtown who’d been stabbed in the throat on a call, and a case of a young college student who was slashed across the face,” Will said. “It’s enough to make them think it’s a pattern.” 

“Of all the things this city needs,” Ethan said, “I don’t think that’s it.”

They lapsed into silence, sipping their water and soda respectively, Ethan got a book out of his backpack and read. Will counted ceiling tiles, counted carpet squares, closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Dr. Gray came out, wearing black scrubs and a hair cover. Ethan looked up when he heard footsteps, closed the book, and jumped to his feet. In the process, he jostled WIll, who jumped to his feet as well.

“Doctors,” she said. “The surgery went well. Connor is coming out of anesthesia now, and is resting comfortably. You can come see him if you’d like.”

They both nodded. She led them to the post-surgical recovery area. Connor was laying in bed, again in a full oxygen mask, antibiotic IV bags resecured to run into his arm. Gray nodded, made some notes in her chart, and left them there with instructions to page a nurse if they needed anything.

The two of them moved in silently and sat down on either side of him, mirrored night watchmen, silent guards standing vigil at their friend’s bedside.


	6. Awakening

He didn’t come into being fully himself right away. That was to be expected. Recovery from a severe trauma wasn’t as simple as getting up and at it again, and Connor Rhodes has been through a hell of a trauma.

Once they were able to have a real conversation with him, his doctors and friends found that he remembered more about the event, and the moments leading up to his first emergency surgery than they’d expected.

He remembered that it had been one person who’d stabbed him, a young looking kid, but a different one, older, who’d slashed the night all the way through, exposing his organs. He remembered Brett and Dawson, and the way their faces had fallen when the extent of his injury had been revealed. He remembered Will pulling back the bandage, and Ethan telling him to keep his eyes on him, and April pushing a syringe into his veins.

He even remembered Dr. Gray’s masked face, and Kirin, the anesthesiologist, telling him to count backwards from ten.

It was after he woke up from that first surgery that everything got blurry and ran together. He woke up, fell asleep, struggled to stay awake. He struggled with pain, and he struggled with the medications that kept the pain at bay. His life felt like a ragged patchwork of disconnected moments, stitched together with IV tubing, and oxygen mask, and the feel of a hospital bed.

Fevers, drugs, more surgery, it all served to keep him in a state of constant, uncomfortable twilight, unresponsive yet not completely asleep.

Slowly, impossibly slowly, he begins stay awake for ever longer periods. Sometimes, he woke up alone, but he rarely stayed that way long. Claire might be there, reading a book or her tablet, April or Maggie eating lunch, Ethan or Will or Natalie taking his pulse, looking at his monitor, sitting beside his bed.

It seemed like Ethan was always there earliest, while Will typically stayed the latest. Natalie usually stopped in during the day, as did Claire. Dr. Charles stepped in at least once a day, whenever he could.

He was not alone, his father was nowhere to be seen, and, thank god, he had not had to be tubed except for when he’d been directly undergoing surgery. Life was awful, but life could be worse.

Connor had no conception of how long he’d been in the hospital, how long he’d been in bed. He could barely move without severe pain, and couldn’t even sit up unassisted.

Too long, that was all he knew.

One night, after being awake nearly an hour and a half without getting tired he said, to Will, “Not that I don’t appreciate the company, but don’t you have a girlfriend or something to go dote on?”

Success. Will turned pink, and looked down at his hands. “I do, but I’d rather be here.”

“Hmm.” Connor closed his eyes.

The next morning, he told Ethan, “I want to go home.”

“That’s up to Dr. Gray, and your physical therapist,” Ethan said. “I can find out what kind of schedule they’re looking at, if you’d like, but that’s all I can do.”

“Thank you.”

Claire didn’t come in that day--she was in Springfield, with their father--and Natalie didn’t come in until late. She came to see him first, before going to the ER.

“Is Owen alright? I heard he was sick.”

“He’s alright, thank you. He’s had an ear infection, but he’s on antibiotics, and he’s doing better.”

“That’s good. Your mom has him?”

“She kindly offered, I accepted. I’m here to pick up Will and Ethan.”

“Just wait,” Connor predicted. “They’ll be up soon enough.

She pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. “You seem to be doing better. More awake, at least?”

“More lucid, I think is term.” He ran his fingers along the bandage, under his gown. “My day are beginning to grow more cohesive.”

“That’s good to hear. They have you on physical therapy?”

Now, he was the one looking down. “Grey and her team keep having to go in for repairs. I haven’t been stable long enough to have a chance.”

“I see.” She put her hand on his forearm. “It’s understandable. The gut is very delicate.”

“Yeah.”

Ethan arrived first, wearing dark jeans and a leather jacket, backpack swung over his shoulder. “Hi, Nat.” He walked over, gave her a shoulder hug. “Will’s on his way up, he’s finishing charting.”

“I figured. Owen’s doing better.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

As they chatted, Connor stared up at the ceiling tiles. He was starting to hurt again, but he played it cool. He was good at that.

It wasn’t too long after that Will showed up too. He had on his gray Chicago Med jacket. He walked over, and gave Natalie a hug. “We missed you today, Nat.”

“I missed you too.”

Pulling away from her, Will turned to Connor. “How are you doing?”

Connor looked up at him, then closed his eyes. It was hard to forget now, Will’s face as he’d worked over his torn abdomen. “Pain scale six and half,” he said, simply.

“Wow, you’re counting in halfs now.” Reaching out, Will squeezed his arm, right where Natalie’s hand had been earlier. “I’ll let the nurses know you’re in need.”

“Thank you.”

Will turned to his colleagues. “Ready to go?”

“They both nodded, and all three trouped to the door. Before they left, Ethan turned back, “I forgot, I was going to tell you…”

“Tell me later,” Connor said. “Go have fun.”

About five minutes after they left, a nurse came in, checked his vitals, and pushed something into his main line. He drifted into a shallow sleep, the beeping of the monitor forming the waves in the darkness in which he drifted.


	7. Chapter 7

Dr. Gray, Dr. Wyatt (the physical therapist), and Dr. Charles all sat down with him to talk about his timeline for discharge.

“You had Class II liver damage, and class III intestinal damage,” Gray said. “But, based on your latest scans, everything is healing well, and I don’t believe further surgery will be required.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Now, Dr. Wyatt spoke up. He was a young black man, in a blue polo shirt, white jacket, and khakis. “Working with Doctor Gray, I have devised a course of therapy to regain your core strength, and eventually full movement entirely, while most importantly avoiding reinjuring yourself.”

“Of course.” Connor pressed his head back into the pillows, stared up once again at the ceiling. “When do you think I’ll be getting out?”

“Probably about four to five more days,” Gray said. “Assuming everything continues on track. If you got sick again, we’d have to delay that, but I don’t think it will happen.”

“And when will I be able to return to work?”

Wyatt and Gray exchanged a look across the bed. Wyatt said, “Conservatively, probably at least eight weeks. I can’t really speculate any further than that until we get started.

“I see.” He blinked back tears, keeping his eyes fixed on the tiles above him. “I understand. Thank you.” 

Charles, God bless him, turned to his colleagues. “I think it would be best to continue with the detail another time. I think Dr. Rhodes needs some time to process.”

“Of course.” Dr. Gray rose, and Wyatt followed suit. “It’s truly good to see you doing better, Connor,” Gray said. “I hope the trend continues.” Then, she turned, and they exited the room.

Dr. Charles sat down again, and turned to Connor. “What’s going on in there?”

“Two months.” His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. Despair flooded his throbbing stomach, welled up in his throat. 

“You sound pretty upset about that.”

“Of course I’m upset. How else am I supposed to feel?” Anger flashed through him, but he wasn’t angry at Dr. Charles. He was just, angry.

“There’s nothing wrong with how you feel, Connor. You’re allowed to feel angry. You’re allowed to feel frightened, and hurt, and sad. All of those feelings are valid, and you will feel them in a way that is unique to you.”

Connor crossed an arm over his chest. He felt awful, but at least he was conscious. At least he wasn’t on a ventilator. At least he didn’t need a liver transplant.

“I’m alright,” he said. “I’m just not good at not working. I haven’t been out of work for longer than a couple weeks in a long time.”

“Now, that I know very well. I’m sure physical therapy and getting readjusted will take up more of your time than you think.”

“I just hate the idea of losing all that time.”

“Try not to think of it as “losing” time. It’s not lost, it’s being used in a different way.” A moment of silence, then Charles continued. “What is it you’re most afraid of losing?”

“My fellowship.”

“I thought both Goodwin and Dr. Latham told you yesterday that your position is secure.”

“They did. Well…”

“You should know Ms. Goodwin doesn’t go back on a promise.”

“I know.” He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’m not worried about losing it outright. I’m just worried, once I’m out, I won’t be able to get back in. Like, once I stop, I’ll lose the touch or something. I don’t know.”

“That’s understandable. From what I understand though, surgery isn’t really something you just forgot.”

“Like riding a bike. That’s what they say.” He bit his lip. “I just don’t know. The physical element can certainly degraded.”

“One way to think of it, is you haven’t stopped practicing your surgical skills. You’re just gaining new skills. Some of the best doctors I know have been through major surgery or medical procedures. Consider it, a practicum in empathy.”

“I’ll do my best.” He was worried his liver was going to start to fail, that he’d always be in pain, that his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He was always worried, though, so perhaps that made him better at setting it aside and getting to work.

After another moment of silence, Charles asked, “Have you been having any nightmares? Anxiety, panic attacks, anything like that?”

“No nightmares. I wake up feeling uneasy, but I think I’m just not sleeping well.”

“None of the patients here do, believe me.”

“Another of those lessons in empathy in you were talking about.” Connor lowered his chin, finally looking Charles in the eye. “I feel pretty anxious when I talk to the cops, but that’s to be expected.” He shrugged. “Nothing more than that.”

And you’ll let me know, if anything else starts to come up?”

“Of course, Doctor.”

“Good.” He rose. “I’ll talk to you later, Connor.”

He didn’t ever mean to lie to Dr. Charles, it just happened. It was just easier not to mention that he’d woken up this morning in an abject panic, that he kept dreaming about alleyways, that even seeing his friends was filling him with a sense of dread.

He just couldn't talk about it yet. And besides, Dr. Charles probably knew all that anyway. He was just waiting for him to say the words.

Connor wasn’t ready to say the words.


	8. Chapter 8

“Dr. Halstead!”

Turning, he saw Connor's walking quickly up to him. “Claire. What can I do for you?”

“I hate to trouble you, but I’m not sure who else to talk to.”

“Please, whatever you need.”

The elevator dinged. He got in, and held the door for her. “I was just about to leave, but I can hang around for a minute.”

“Thank you. For everything, really.”

Will didn’t know what she meant by everything, but he smiled, and ushered her into the Doctor’s Lounge. Earlier, it had been crowded by the night shift getting ready, and the day shift getting out, but now it’s nearly deserted.

They sat down across from each other in lean gray armchairs. Claire fidgeted with her ring. Will folded his hands. “What can I do for you, Claire?”

She leaned forward, biting her lip. “It’s about Connor’s discharge.”

“I’m sure Dr. Gray or Dr. Wyatt could tell you more about that than I could.”

“It’s not that. He seems much better, medically. I mean, I don’t really know, but he seems...less pale. More himself, if you know what I mean?”

He knew what she meant. “What is it, then?”

“I’m worried because...well, I feel awful about it. The plan was, I would take Connor home from the hospital, and he’d stay with me.”

She trailed off, and fell into silence. Will prompted her. “What’s the problem, then?”

“Our father.” She said it like she was trying to play it off as casual, but he could hear the pain in her voice. Or maybe he was projecting, because he knew how Connor felt about their father.

“I won’t bore you with the details, but...he’s demanding I accompany him on a trip.”

Anger flashed through Will, white hot. He couldn’t imagine anything keeping him from Jay’s side, if he were in this position. Still, he was trying to work on controlling his reactions to these flashes, so he inhaled through his nose and said, “And you can’t get out of it?”

“I know you’re judging me.” She was just like her brother, bright blue eyes and no patience to put up with feeling like she was being stepped on. “Don’t bother. I hate it too, but if I had any other choice, I would take it.” Her entire affect said, _I don’t have to explain myself to you._

“I’m not here to judge you, Claire. Have you talked to him about this?”

“Of course I have.” She rubbed her eyes. “He’s insisting that he’ll be fine on his own.”

“Of course he is,” Will mumbled. He must not have said it as under his breath as he’d intended, because Claire laughed. He shook his head. “What about his case manager? Or Dr. Charles?”

“They’ve been talking with him, but he won’t concede. I don’t know. I hoped you might be able to take a different tack with him.”

He was still trying not to be angry with her. She didn’t deserve it, it wasn’t his place, but he was just so in shock, he didn’t even know what to say. There were so many layers to this situation, and he didn’t want to step into it wrong.

Eventually, he managed to from the words, “Why me? I mean--”

“You don’t think you and Connor are that close? You’re not sure if you’re really friends?” Her eyes cut him straight to the bone. That had to be a genetic Rhodes trait, that ability to slap someone clear across the face with the truth. All he could do was shrug.

She shook her head. “Listen, doctor. You may have noticed, by brother doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends.”

He blinked, trying to process the boldness of this statement. “I don’t think that’s true…”

“Close friends, I suppose would be more accurate to say. It’s just a fact. My brother does not connect with people quickly or easily. But I see what he’s like with you...with others here too, but especially with you. I don’t know how to explain it.” She sighed. “I don’t know how else to say it, but he trusts you, Will. And Connor doesn’t just hand out trust.”

There was nothing else he could say, no other point he could argue. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he couldn’t put words together, Finally, he just nodded, and said, “I’ll talk to him, Claire. I’ll do my best. But I can’t promise anything.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

They rose, and shook hands. She smiled at him, and thanked him, and then she was gone. Will turned, and headed straight back to the elevator.

Connor looked resigned when he walked. “I knew she was going to bring you into this.”

Will pulled a chair closer to the bed, and sat down. “Connor, if one of your patients was talking like you are right now, you’d be begging them to reconsider.”

Closing his eyes, Connor turned his head to the side. “I value self-sufficiency.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t feel comfortable having you come home from the hospital alone, certainly not on your first day. I’m sure your apartment hasn’t been properly adjusted for your condition. You can’t do it on your own.” He folded his hands, fixed Connor in his gaze. “My scheduled time-off overlaps with your discharge. I’ll drive you home, do some shopping for you, sleep on your couch. This isn’t a discussion,” he added when Connor opened his eyes and looked back at him. “It would be against my conscience to let someone out themselves at risk.”

“God knows, there’s no arguing with your conscience,” Connor said. He was actually smiling. “If you insist, doctor.”

“I do.” Will slumped back in his chair, arms folded. Anger boiled up inside him again and, this time, he couldn’t stop himself from saying something. “I can’t believe she’s just leaving you like that. She’s a grown woman, why won’t she stand up to your father?”

Connor didn’t look angry. He just seemed sad. “Our father has more control of her life than he should. It’s partly my fault. I got myself free, took off, and didn’t turn around to try to help her.” He leveled his gaze at Will. “She is trying. She’s been here far more than I ever expected her to be.”

And then, Will wasn’t mad anymore either. Again, the thought of being without Jay nearly crushed his chest. Reaching out, he put a hand on Connor’s wrist.

After a moment of silence, Will said, “I’ll talk to Wyatt in the morning. Does Claire still have your keys?”

“She should. Don’t go tromping around my home anymore than you need to.”

He squeezed Connor’s arm, then let go. “I don’t tromp.”


	9. Chapter 9

The key clicked the lock, and Will stepped into Connor’s near silent apartment. Connor probably could have afforded to live in a townhouse, or even a proper small house, but it was clear that he didn’t go in for luxuries just because he could. Still, it was definitely significantly nicer than Will’s place, and he reminded himself that he was here to help, not to judge, and certainly not to compare.

The first thing he did was clean. Connor kept an orderly house, so it wasn’t a terribly onerous task. It was mostly dusting, rinsing out the sinks and wiping the counters, cleaning old food out of the refrigerator, picking up the deterius of place that the owner had been expecting to come back to. He worried he might come across something unpleasant, like surprise dead fish, but fortunately Connor had no plants or pets to speak of. There was just a plate, a bowl, and some utensils in the sink, a mug, some mail, and a book on the table, a little bit of coffee now ice cold in its pot.

There was something very sad about it, almost mournful, and the thought crossed his mind that Jay must walk into scenes like this all the time. The aftermath of a life interrupted.

When the cleaning was done, he did a short loop around the apartment to familiarize himself with it, then got in the car, and went back to his own place. He did his own cleaning, got rid of any perishables that couldn’t last more than a few days, checked that his bills were paid with a grimace.

A couple hours later, Claire called him, and he met her at the grocery store. She’d told him she would pay for anything Connor needed. Will was thankful and, besides, it wasn’t his place to try to stop her from substituting money for closeness.

_It’s not your place to judge her for that, either_ , he told himself. _It’s not your job to be angry on Connor’s behalf._

Dr. Gray had given them a list of appropriate food and drinks, and they stocked up. She asked if he needed anything else, and he picked up a set of two-way radios, some sweatpants because it didn’t seem like Connor actually owned any, and some supplies he needed to top off his first response kit. He knew Connor had one of his own, but he preferred to have his at hand.

They checked out, and went pack to Connor’s. Claire went up with him to help him put everything away, and thanked him for cleaning. She actually thanked him twice, the second time as she was leaving. She gave him her personal cell number, as well as the number for the hotel she was staying at. “If anything happens, or you need anything at all, please call me. At any time.” She looked down, then said, “Thank you, again.”

“It’s no problem, really, he assured her.

Connor was scheduled to get out the next morning, so after she left, he went back to his own place. He had dinner (the last of some leftover chinese food), packed a small suitcase and set it by the door. He spent most of the rest of the night getting out of bed to add or take something out of the bag, tossing and turning, sure there was something important he had forgotten.

The scheduled time to pick Connor up had been given as 9:00 AM, and that was when Will got there but, as he’d expected, they weren’t actually walking (or being wheeled, in Connor’s case), out of the hospital. He’d brought the sweatpants he’d brought, as well as a large black t-shirt, and a Chicago Med jacket that he’d never seen Connor wear. Connor had thanked him, and Will left to say hi to Natalie and Ethan while a nurse named Paul helped Connor get changed.

After that, he sat in on Connor’s last meeting with Dr. Wyatt, and then April went with them to the car. He didn’t get a chance to see Dr. Charles before they left, but it wasn’t as though he didn’t have his number.

When they arrived, he brought Connor and has bags of medication and wound care supplies up first. He asked Connor if he was hungry, but he said he was just tired, so Will made sure he got into bed okay, then went quickly back down to grab his own luggage.

He set up his bags beside the couch, unpackaged the two-way radios, and made sure the batteries he’d put in them worked. Walking back into Connor’s room, he set one of them on the nightstand. “Connor, I’m giving you a walkie so you can call me if you need anything. You don’t even have to talk, you can just push the red button, and it will beep. Okay?”

Connor had his eyes closed, but he made an affirmative noise and nodded, so Will took that as a yes for now. He’d remind him again when he was more awake. He went out to the living room, and watched television on his laptop with the headphones on, walkie-talkie resting next to him on the couch.

About three hours later, Connor came out of the bedroom. Will heard shuffling footsteps, and turned around to see him sitting down on the dining room table, arms crossed over his abdomen. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.

Will took off his headphones, went to the kitchen, and filled a glass with water. He set it on the table at Connor’s right hand. “You should eat something before you take any medication.”

“Oatmeal,” Connor said. “Please.” He sounded so tired.

The tin of oatmeal was in the pantry. The cup for boiling water was in a drawer next to the sink. Will filled it and put it in the microwave. Connor sipped his mug of water.

Will stopped the microwave a second before it beeped, took out the cup, and poured it into the bowl where he’d also scooped some oatmeal. He stirred it, poured in a little more water, and set in front of Connor. As he took tentative bites, Will got out the medications, shook out two vicodin pills, and set them on a napkin next to the glass of water. Then, he took the medication bottles and put them in the bathroom.

Connor downed the pills that had been set in front of him in one gulp of water, then returned with a sigh to the oatmeal. Will sat down on the couch, picked up the remote. “You want to watch t.v?”  
“I have no idea what’s on.”

“Honestly, neither do I.” Will turned it on, flipped around until he found a daytime medical drama. “Why is it they’re always making out in supply closets on these shows?”

“I don’t know how they have the time.” Connor came over with his glass of water, and sat pressed against the armrest of the couch. Will noticed he was shivering, and brought him one of the blankets he’d cleaned.

 

They sat in front of the television for about an hour and a half. When he noticed Connor was falling asleep, Will woke him up and walked him to the bedroom. Again, he pointed out the two-way radio on the nightstand, and Connor nodded and said, “It’s a good idea.”

Will went back out into the living room, turned off the television, and checked his phone. Natalie had sent him a picture of Owen dressed as a pumpkin, and he replied that next year, she should dress him up as a doctor.

She replied back, [How’s Connor doing?]

[Sleeping. He’s exhausted.]

[I’m not surprised.]

After reading for awhile, Will fell asleep on the couch around 10 PM. He slept shallowly, dreaming he was sitting in the car with Jay, and Jay was telling him about this empty house he’d just been in.


	10. Chapter 10

At 11:30 PM, there was a loud thunk that woke Will up from a dead sleep. He was on his feet nearly immediately, looking around the living room and kitchen. When he didn't see anything, he headed towards the bedroom.

In this apartment, the bathroom was down the hall from the bedroom. He found Connor balled up on the tile floor of the bathroom, next to the sink. He wasn't moving.

“Connor!”

He had the first aid kit in his hands, and was kneeling beside his friend, before he had time to think. Connor moaned when he rolled him over, so that was something at least.

“Did you hit your head?” Will asked. He didn't see any blood. Connor nodded, a tiny careful movement. “What happened?”

“I thought I was going to throw up.”

He'd fainted, that was Will's best guess. Syncope, with aggravated trauma on the way down. “Why didn't you buzz me?”

“I thought I could handle it.”

“Jeez, Connor, I didn't think I was going to have to sleep in your doorway.”

Connor said nothing. He looked miserable. Will put a hand on his wrist, feeling his pulse. “Alright, let me take a look at you.”

His pupils were even. He was dazed but his eyes were tracking. There was no blood, but it looked like there was going to be a massive bruise. Will's concern was more that as time went on, the point of trauma would start to swell. Where there was swelling, there were complications.

“Do you think you can sit up?”

Eyes closed, Connor nodded. Will pulled his arm over his shoulders, slid his own arm around his back. He got Connor up, and walked slowly with him back to bed.

“Tell me how you're feeling,” Will said. 

“Dizzy. Nauseous. My brain is pounding.”

Will knelt beside the bed, hand still resting on Connor’s forearm. He was thinking about whether or not he should bundle him up and take him straight to the emergency room.

As if he'd read his mind, Connor said, “I don't want to go back to the hospital.”

“I wouldn't, either.” Will squeezed his wrist. “I'm willing to see how things go.”

“I'm exhausted,” Connor said.

“You can sleep, I'm just going to be waking you up every couple hours.”

“Fine.”

Will went to the kitchen, got a metal bowl, and set it on the nightstand next to the bed. Then he went and got his pillow and a blanket, and sat against the wall facing Connor's bed 

Connor woke up twice to throw up in the bowl. Will woke him up three more times, asked him basic neurological assessment questions. As time went on, Connor seemed to be growing more and more confused. By three AM, Will knew he'd have to take him back to the hospital.

When he woke him up at 5:30, Connor could answer his questions, but he was slurring. His left pupil was blown, his right was a pinprick. When he shined his pen light into them, they were too slow to react.

“Sorry, Connor,’ he said. “We have to go.”

He went and found Connor's jacket, helped pull his arms into it, zipped it up. He threw on his own jacket, helped Connor stand up. He could tell instantly that Connor wouldn't have been able to stand up on his own unsupported.

As he carried him down to his car, he noticed that his entire body was trembling. His eyes were locked on the middle distance.

“Stay with me, Connor,” Will said, as he got in the driver's seat. “Stay with me, we aren't far.”

Connor closed his eyes, pressed his head against the headrest, and whimpered.

On the way, Will called Maggie over bluetooth, gave her a paramedic's summary of the situation.

“We'll have a bed ready,” she told him. “I'll page Dr. Abrams.”

“Thank you, Maggie.”

Will hung up, and kept his eyes on the road. In the seat next to him, Connor shuddered.

April met them at the entrance with a wheelchair. She brought them straight back to treatment three, where Ethan and Dr. Abrams were waiting.

Ethan moved quickly to help Will lay Connor in the bed. Abrams stood back and watched, observing.

“April, telemetry.”

“I'm on it.” She had already attached a pulse oximeter to his finger. Ethan looked up at the monitor. “Let's get an oxygen mask going on him.”

“Look at his eyes,” Abrams said.

“I saw.” Ethan put a hand on Connor's shoulder. “Dr. Rhodes, how are you feeling? Can you tell me what happened?”

Connor didn't respond. He shook his head, still staring into the middle distance. Ethan turned expectantly to Will.

“He hit his head on the bathroom counter,” Will said. “I didn't see it happen. I don't think he lost consciousness, but I don't know for sure.”

“How long ago was this?”

Will did the math. “About five hours. Five and a half.”

“You should have brought him in sooner,” Abrams growled. Will's cheeks went red hot. He looked up at Ethan, praying that he understood why he'd done what he did.

He seemed to. Or, at the very least, he was willing to step in on the issue. “Right now, we need to focus on the present,” he said to Abrams, mildly. “What's your plan?”

“He need a CT scan to be sure, but he'll definitely need a drain.”

“Maggie's finding a suite now,” April said.

“Call me when the pictures are in,” Abrams said.

As he turned to leave, Will called out, “What about pain?”

Abrams stopped in the doorway. “Tylenol. I'd say 800 milligrams, but I'm sure you can do the math.”

As he left, April and Ethan looked at each other, and rolled their eyes. Will shoved his hands in his pockets. He felt utterly useless 

“Let's get a main line going, and push acetaminophen,” Ethan said. He turned to Will. “It might be a little while until we can get him into a machine. Busy morning. Can you stay ere and keep an eye on him for a little while?”

“Of course.”

April gently pulled an oxygen mask over Connor's face, then got out a syringe kit. Ethan put a hand on Will's shoulder, tucked his tablet under his arm, and left the room too.

Will sat down heavily in one of the chairs. Connor was staring up at the ceiling. The pulse oximeter beeped results on the monitor.

It felt like a movie, like a bad dream. It wasn't. This was real life, and Will felt like he was barely keeping up.


End file.
